I opted to play chess with my boyfriend, Ben, for the sake of game reflection, dissection, and journalling in my Games and Learning course at CU Denver. When we began to play at a quaint coffeehouse, I felt quite confident that I could showcase a couple interesting moves, but Ben did not mention that he was quite skilled at the game. What began as fun, turned into a fierce competition and ended in checkmate, Ben’s favor.
I asked myself the following questions while playing the game:
- What is Ben’s skill level?
- Are we comparable?
- What is is Ben’s strategy?
- How many moves ahead is Ben planning?
- How long does he take to decide his next move?
- How should my strategy change to combat Ben’s strategy?
Difficulties & Surprises
As we played, I realized Ben was much better than he let on. I quickly saw by his third move, he was playing the long game. He wasn’t interested in my pawns, but more about setting the board up to his advantage. This posed as both a surprise and increased difficulty for me. I gathered that he was planning more than three moves out, which was beyond my mental capabilities. His moves began to put me on the defense rather than the offense. Not long after that, I was begrudgingly obliterated.
Chess is the perfect game that requires strategy, planning, composure, and skill. I was constrained by my lower skill level and inability to hide my emotions. I kept telling Ben to play his game and not let me win. Ben kept asking if I was sure about that, indicating that his constraints were to not upset me. I might go so far as to say the game was a reflection of our relationship. We both can play the game, but I want a partner who will challenge me. Ben certainly does just that!
Ben and I achieved the first question of Will Wright’s litmus test for a game’s engagement and success, “Can we try?” (Salen, 2008, p. 11). There was also a critical moment for Ben when he decided to fully play his best even though he knew he had the advantage. As the game progressed and I began losing, I asked the second important game question, “Can I save it?” (Salen, 2008, p. 11). I played my best until I realized I couldn’t save the game. After my ego healed, I felt I needed to learn from Ben’s superior chess playing abilities.
We have not yet played again, but our next game’s goal is to employ Gee’s theory, “learning should be a collaborative dance between the teacher’s guidance and the learner’s actions and interpretations,” (2004, p. 68). I see Ben as the teacher since he has a better grasp of chess. If we slow the game down and talk through moves, then I have a greater opportunity to learn. Our last game was not necessarily fun for either of us because we came from a place of competition rather than curiosity. True, I learned a bit, but I would benefit much more by learning Ben’s skills than acting like I can play at his level.
My experience of playing chess seemed like inception. Chess is complex even without the added challenge of playing one’s significant other. I learned about the dynamics of our relationship through play. One major realization being that I sometimes ask for what I cannot handle. It would be wise to remember this experience and apply it in my daily life. I should ask myself, “Am I really capable of challenging Ben now or would this be a better opportunity to slow down, communicate, and learn from Ben?”
Photo Credit: http://www.motaen.com/wallpapers/source/id/38025